


For the Memories

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Fluff, Gen, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, OH BOY MORE PEOPLE NEED TO WRITE FOR THIS 'PAIRING' BECAUSE THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS TOO SWEET TO EXIST., Prompt Fic, Traditions, you dig me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scar and May celebrate New Year's with an Ishvalan tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "more scar & may mr GC. u have failed me for the last time. im gonna keep sendin u this prompt until u do the thing".
> 
> This started off as a pun about how Scar's arc is all about wrath [and is analogous to Fuehrer Bradley/Wrath] and somehow my friend and I ended up talking about the book _Grapes of Wrath_ and then I remembered this tradition and my friend told me to do it.
> 
> So here you go, for that one anon who keeps spamming my inbox with requests for more May & Scar. Here you go!
> 
> The New Year's tradition is based off of a similar tradition practised by some in Panamá. The foreign language that Scar uses for the numbers is Ainu, the real-life people off of which the Ishvalans were based. I got the numbers off of a page on the Ainu language, so my sincerest apologies for any errors. You should research the people, though, because they're really neat and cool and deserve more recognition and representation.
> 
> May & Scar is possibly one of my hardest-shipped brOTPs/queerplatonic/friendships/whatevers ever. I just. Goodness gracious.
> 
> Also, May's kindness, optimism, intelligence, ravenous curiosity about alkahestry and alchemy, and unfailing spirit reminds Scar of his brother. Sweet dreams, kiddos.
> 
> Unedited/unbeta'd/etc. Enjoy and thank you for reading!

In the thick crowd of Amestrisians bundled against the winter chill, packing the main road of Central City before the capitol building atop which some enterprising State Alchemists have rigged a series of array-fueled lights—they illuminate the massive clock decorated with an equally massive wreath—no one notices a man with dark skin and white hair concealed behind a thick coat and a tiny girl marshmallow-puffed in blue.

The clock reads a minute till, and the electric excitement singes the air with palpable heat.

“ _Sinep, tup, rep, inep . . ._ ” He counts twelve round berries into the outstretched palm of her hand. She inspects them: purple tinging towards blue at the edges. Xiao Mei flicks her ears forward in an emulation of May’s confusion. Although the scarred man’s features do not so much as shift, May has known him long enough to sense the line of his mouth twitching upwards. “Grapes. They’re sweet. You’ll like them.”

“And now we wait for midnight, which starts the new year, right?” The scarred man inclines his head, and May cocks hers to one side. “You didn’t invite Dr Marcoh with us. Why, Mr Scar?”

The scarred man hoods his crimson eyes behind his shadowed shades. “He’s of Amestris.”

“Ah.” Bobbing her head, May rustles her braids against her hood. Nearby someone sets off a premature firework; the scarred man opens his coat to shield May from the inevitable noise and colour and confusion. Sheltered from the cold in the warmth of the partial embrace, May looks up and smiles. “I understand.”

“For each grape, make a wish,” the scarred man continues, his voice softer now, lower. Though she cannot see the shimmer in his irises she senses the tears trembling at the corners of his misted eyes; Xiao Mei snuggles between the dip of May’s throat and his torso, a radiator of heat. “Twelve wishes. You can only say them after they come true.”

“Twelve whole wishes.” Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. _Arwanpe. Iwanpe. Asiknep. Inep. Rep. Tup. Sinep._ The masses explode in screams of celebration. Fireworks sear the skies in reds and yellows and blues.

May pops the first— _grape_ —into her mouth. Bites through the skin. Sweet and tangy rolled up together in a coil of another flavour for which she has no name beyond the Amestrisian. Or the Ishvalan, she realises, unsure of which.

She hopes the word on her tongue—the taste on her tongue—is the latter.

As the clock chimes its second, third, twelve ring, May swallows the grapes one by one, silently promising wishes to herself. Xiao Mei laps her rough tongue at May’s lower jaw. Something hard and round presses into her palm: The scarred man adds another dozen to her hand. “For your panda.” His voice is gruff but the arm around her shoulders is warm.

Xiao Mei nibbles the grapes, chirping happily at the sweetness and growling as one of them pops like a cork from her teeth. With an easy catch between her index and middle fingers, May returns the grape to her beloved panda. She glances up only to catch the scarred man observing her with an odd expression.

 _Gentle_ , she would call it.

May offers an overjoyed grin and hugs him around the midsection. For a moment he does nothing; then, slowly, he returns the embrace with both arms now.

When the crowd has dispersed just enough for the trio to slip away into an alleyway and back to the  safehouse, May reaches out for the scarred man’s hand. Though her mittens prevent her from linking their fingers, she grips his hand as they cross the rooftops. She skips by his side. At length he lowers his shades to halfway down the bridge of his nose.

“What is it?”

May skids to a stop, dragging him with her. Spins around. Points at him and _glares_. Then she breaks into the widest, warmest smile. “I get to tell you one of my wishes now, Mr Scar.”

His brows snap together. “I told you: You can only tell me _after_ —”

“—it comes true. Right?”

He studies her for a long silence. Steadily he nods. She tightens her hold on his hand. “Then my first one came true.” She hesitates; he squeezes her hand back, and her grin brightens like she contained the stars on her lips. “I wished you’d be happy, Mr Scar.”

At first he says nothing in response. Then, slowly, he draws her into another embrace, this one even softer than the last. “Thank you, May.”

“No,” she murmurs, butting her head into his stomach, and Xiao Mei chirps. “Thank _you_ , Mr Scar.”


End file.
